


death feeling.

by fuckingkinney



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, death is basically the theme, not anything graphic though~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:04:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckingkinney/pseuds/fuckingkinney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And that, that was why Ian had to ask. Mickey's mind was always so-- so different, so interesting and Ian would want nothing more than to pick it apart, cram himself into every pore and corner until he could read the man better than he could read himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	death feeling.

For a Milkovich, death was never something to be afraid of. It was something to embrace, enjoy, because with their luck: it was bound to happen sooner rather than later and the sooner that you accepted it, the better. But that's why they fought, fists up and bloodied, skin black and blue and will never bending as they were knocked down and down, all whilst getting up again and again.

For a Gallagher, death was never thought of, it was never spoken of. It wasn't taboo, not by any mean. They were just more focused on getting through the days, taking each one by one. It wasn't as if they weren't all aware that with their luck, Frank would out last them all anyway. 

-

It wasn't like Ian wasn't curious though, curious of what everyone else thought of the matter. Most people just shot him down, leveled him with a look that made him drop the subject. Not Mickey. But, that may have been because they were on their third joint of the night and even Ian could feel himself start to slip out of consciousness. 

"What'd you think happens when you die?"

His words were slurred, barely more than a whisper. 

The silence in response caused Ian to snap his eyes open, alarm alerting him that it may have never been a good time to ask that question - regardless of whether Mickey were high or not. 

But at the sight of the ex-con, Ian wondered why he'd freaked out at all. He was relaxed, more than he'd possibly ever seen him except for after he came. A joint hanging lazily between his fingers, almost as if he suddenly didn't have the energy within him to bring it to his lips again. He stayed silent for a moment longer, exhaling slowly.

"Nothing." He responded, voice lower than Ian's had been. "I don't think anything happens, Firecrotch."

And that, that was why Ian had to ask. Mickey's mind was always so-- so different, so interesting and Ian would want nothing more than to pick it apart, cram himself into every pore and corner until he could read the man better than he could read himself. 

And as much as he'd like to get Mickey talking, make him dive into the topic head first with no means of escape, Ian let it drop. Let his head nod slowly as the older of the pair finally looked over towards him, questioning in his eyes.

"What'd you think happens then, Gallagher?"

Ian fell silent for a moment, blinking at himself and his thoughts.

"I guess.. I'll just have to find out when it happens."

The eye roll he got in response had Ian laughing, leaning over and snatching the joint away from Mickey, who barely retaliated by scruffing him across the back of the head with the palm of his hand.

-

Mickey Milkovich died on a Monday. 

It'd barely been two weeks since he'd run away from the fake marriage Terry had set up with the Russian. He'd walked into the alter, taken one look at the sick look on Ian's face as he sat between Mandy and another relative he couldn't remember the name of, and he'd ran. His feet had never moved so fast. Mickey couldn't find it within himself to stop and go back. Not even when Terry ran after him. Not even when he could feel his legs cramping and his oxygen supply cutting off. Not even when he collapsed in an alleyway in a place he didn't know, sobbing into the dirt.

He'd been outed, with Ian, in full glory and no fucking concern at all. Only that was a lie: Mickey had been terrified, Ian could see it in the way his thumb dragged across his bottom lip and his eyes blinked too many times in a row. 

They'd planned to run away, the two of them. It was a drive-by, someone that no one claimed to know. Mickey had stayed alive for three days after that, in a coma but alive. 

When he died in hospital, Ian had been strangling his hand, tears refusing to leave his eyes for Mickey's sake more than his own.

-

Ian died on a Wednesday.

He was twenty-two, finally in the Army. Hadn't been more relieved than the day he left for the front line. He knew it would happen, since the moment he woke up and felt the weight on his shoulders gone with no reason behind it at all. He was still there, still listening to the screams and cries of others as they were shot down and left for dead. And yet.. Ian didn't care.

He didn't care as he loaded his gun. He didn't care as he held his breathe, waiting before he ran and started shooting and he didn't care as he felt himself being killed. The bullets didn't effect him, didn't even enter his mind as he dropped to the mud harshly.

Ian just laid there, staring at the sky above as he resisted the urge to fucking _smile._ Because he'd been waiting, for so long, for it to happen and it finally was. So the redhead gave into it, pictures of an aggressive Milkovich dancing behind his eyelids as he let them close before, finally, slipping into the awaiting nothing.


End file.
